Hindsight
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: It's always 20/20. On vacation with the Zabinis, Draco learns to see certain things differently. Incest ahead. It's Narco.


Hindsight

"Hey. Look at this one." Blaise tossed another magazine. Draco caught it sloppily. "Nice tits."

Draco unfolded the glossy centerfold and regarded it. "Meh."

Blaise laughed. "You know you like it. It's really alright, Drake. Looking at them, I mean." He gestured to the pornography. "Not like we're going to marry one."

Blaise was referring to the muggle women featured in his 'skin' collection. He'd been acquiring the illicit publications almost since Draco had known him, and now had an impressive lot of almost 40 stashed in his charmed wardrobe.

Draco humoured him. This had always secretly been his favourite part of visiting the Zabinis' vacation villa - perusing muggle smut with his best friend, while pleasantly floating in a haze of belladonna. He tossed the magazine back to Blaise. "She's alright. But. You know…" He shrugged. Couldn't explain it, really.

He was certainly attracted to witches (and the occasional muggle woman spotted here and there), but never the ones all his friends were attracted to. And never the ones that seemed quite...right.

Blaise was looking at him studiously. Nodding. "You know?" The dark boy began sagely. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. About your proclivities. Or lack thereof, I should say. And I think I'm onto something."

Draco was curious. "Oh? Do tell, wise one." He dropped onto the cushion in Blaise's window seat. A sweet Mediterranean breeze tickled the back of his neck.

Blaise sat cross-legged on his bed. Spread his hands politically. "Just hear me out, mate. Right?" Draco nodded, a bit amused. Definitely rather high. "Alright." Blaise began slowly, gathering his thoughts. "I know the types of witches I like. Tall ones. You know. Thin. With those perky type tits. Real leggy ones. Right?"

Again, Draco nodded. More than familiar with Blaise's preferences.

"Right." Blaise nodded, preparing to solidify his thesis. "You don't go for any of that, it seems. Even at school. D'you ever notice that?"

Here, Draco thought. Honestly in school there had always been...too much other stuff for him to consider. All that business with the Dark Lord… Girls had simply fallen by the wayside. But he supposed he could see Blaise's point. Even then, he'd never felt particularly aroused by his friend's collection. "I suppose."

"Right." Again, Blaise re-grouped. "Look at my mum." Here, he gestured without looking to the ceiling high portrait on the wall behind him. Mrs. Zabini. In all her radiant glory.

Doubtless, the witch was an unconscionable beauty. Nearing six feet tall. Thin. Elegant. Long-necked, and gracefully limbed. A swan of a woman in chocolate plumage. Waifish and fey. Her face was a veritable textbook example of coy seduction. "Alright." Draco played along gamely. "She's beautiful."

"I think so, too." Blaise said happily. "But I have this theory. That if my mum came breezing up to you - 'cause that's how she walks, really - and said 'Oh, Draco you young wizarding Adonis come bugger me good and proper...'" He paused, watching Draco laugh at the image. "...I'm pretty sure you'd say no."

"I would." Not a moment's hesitation.

"Because you respect me as a best friend?"

"Well…" Difficult question.

But Blaise waved off the reply, anyway. "No. Because you're not attracted to my mum. It's that simply."

"Alright." Draco nodded slowly, considering. "So we've established I'm not going to fuck your mum. What does that have to do with my _proclivities_?"

"Ahhh. Herein lies the tricky bit." Blaise sighed. "You see, our attractions start with our mums, don't they? Who's the first witch you thought was pretty?"

"My mum." It was true. In fact, he remembered the exact moment. He'd been ten years old. Preparing for his first term at Hogwarts. His parents had hosted a lavish dinner in his honour, and in fact - the Zabinis had attended. After the food and the pudding, Draco and Blaise had been dismissed to play. They'd ridden brooms with Crabbe and Goyle for a bit, played a Quidditch scrimmage. Chased Pansy Parkinson into the hedge maze. Their parents would talk and gossip well into evening, so the children had enjoyed their last hours of freedom. When he'd finally fallen into his clean, cool duvet that evening for his last night at home, he'd been thoroughly exhausted.

He was drifting near sleep when his mother entered. Still dressed for dinner. In the moonlight, her blue satin dress shimmered silver, and hugged her supple curves. Her hair was down, and she held her high heels in her hand. Perhaps she'd been a bit tipsy from the wine. Her cheeks were so pink. Eyes glittered. And her smile…

When she leaned over to kiss him good-night, all five feet and one inch of her, he'd thought there was never a more beautiful creature in existence. And now - often - he still felt that way.

"Me, too." Blaise continued, not noticing Draco's reverie. "So I'll always go for those tall willowy witches with the perky tits. But you… Think of all the girls you've had crushes on, and tell me what they all have in common."

So he did. There was Pansy. She'd been a crush for quite a few years, although he'd long outgrown it. She was rather...short. Windy Hallowthwaite. Also rather...short. He'd briefly entertained notions of Luna Lovegood (though he'd murder if a soul ever spoke of it) and she was also...petite. Okay. He saw the point clearly enough. "So I like short witches."

"Well, yes." Blaise grinned. "But think harder."

Draco thought harder. So hard his lips pursed. "Oh! They've all been either blonde or black-haired!"

"That, too." Blaise goaded. "And there's something else…Something important."

Witch features flitted fast through his mind. Eyes. Mouths. Noses. Hair. Legs. Breasts… He couldn't pinpoint any one trait all of his interests had in common. He gave up genially. Waved in surrender. "Alright. Tell me. What is it?"

"One word." Blaise leaned forward. "Bum."

"_You're_ a bum." Draco retorted.

"No, no! I'm not calling you a bum, you stupid twat." Blaise laughed. "I'm saying all the witches you've fancied have...you know...curvy bottoms."

Draco blinked. A litany of witch-arse cascaded past his mind's eye with startling clarity, ending on one bum in particular. One bum to rule them all. A bum he'd seen in a multitude of fabrics and prints; clinging cotton, stiff brocade, sweeping silks and sussing satin, dripping with crystal beading or nearly showing through semi-sheer tulle. _The _bum.

The arse from which his fantasies spewed forth like so much sick. It was the mother of all rumps. The dame of derrieres.

_His mother's arse._

Suddenly, the Mediterranean breeze was not so breezy. He felt sweltering in his own skin, like the weight of realization somehow reversed gravity, brought the sun closer to the damned earth. "Oh, hell…"

Blaise lit with merriment. "I'm right!" He crowed. "Yes!" As if finding the source of Draco's fetish equated to the discovery of fire.

But Draco could not share the celebration. He leaned forward in his chair. Cradled his head. Perhaps the belladonna was getting to him. He felt a little nauseous. "Oh, Merlin."

Blaise was there. Rubbing his back. "It's alright, mate." Sympathy rang in the tone. "I think all pureblood boys go through it." He shrugged. "Besides. Your mum _does_ have an ace arse."

"Ay!"

Blaise shrugged. "Just saying." Busily, he gathered up his scattered pornography, carefully levitating it back to its cubby. "We should probably make our way to dinner before mum sends the elf."

"Yeah." But Draco was hesitant to go to dinner. Now that he understood and indeed saw for the first time his deviance in its purity, he hardly wanted to sit across from it and watch it sip its wine. "I suppose we should."

There was no help for it. If they didn't go, their matrons would surely come searching. And two angry matrons were far worse than one angry matron. Like a soldier marching to certain death, Draco followed Blaise.

The weather was bliss. They dined beneath a portico strung with grape vine. Greek delicacies ever on the menu, and crisp sweet white wines. Blaise and his mother were lazy eaters. Dinner hedonists who chewed slowly and commented muchly. It was a joy just to watch them, and today was no exception.

When the boys arrived at table, the witches were already sampling olives from several bowls. "Blaise!" Mrs. Zabini leaned back to accept a kiss (on the lips) from her son. "You're late. I almost sent the elf."

Blaise met Draco's eyes with a grin. "Forgive, mother. We were having a most interesting discussion."

"Oh?" Narcissa was less...intimate in greeting her son. A smile. A nod. He sat beet red just the same. "What was this discussion, then?"

"Nothing."

"Brooms."

He and Blaise spoke at once. Their mothers smiled. "That means they were discussing witches, I imagine," Mrs. Zabini chuckled.

"Mirella!" Cissa admonished. "I assure you my son takes no notice of such things." She popped an olive in her mouth and winked at Draco. "Right, darling?"

He didn't answer. Ironically, he was noticing the curve of her breasts showing within the plunging 'v' of her sleeveless cotton frock. Perhaps they weren't particularly big, but they were round as those olives and firmly ripe. He looked away. Hated Blaise for even suggesting…

The elf brought round wine and seared goat with a tangy dipping sauce. More wine. Spicy couscous. More wine. Cheeses. More wine. Soon the diners were fully dined and fully wined. Their cheeks were flush and their voices loud. Even Draco had managed to relax at last, laughing as he and Blaise fired off freezing spells at fireflies.

"Awful boys," Mirella sighed. She leaned backward in her chair, bouyed by a charm, and smiled at her tall son. Her attentions turned to Narcissa after a moment, and quietly, she asked. "How are you, old friend?"

Cissa, soft with wine, answered honestly. "Sad sometimes. Lonely."

"I understand." The Zabini witch had a genuine smile, sympathetic. "After Ludovic died… I didn't know what I would do." Her eyes lingered again on Blaise, who was leaping to cup a frozen firefly.

Narcissa nodded. True, Ludovic had been a seventh husband, but it had been quite apparent he'd been Mirella's first true love. Too bad he'd shared the same penchant for darkness as Lucius had. So, taking a breath, Narcissa raised her now half empty glass. "To Death Eaters' widows."

Mirella clinked good naturedly. "May we look this good when it's our turn to go."

"Here, here."

Their conversation may have been quiet, but Draco had heard. Trouble again descended on his shoulders. To think his mother was sad, or lonely… He looked at her face. The profile was too young for such heavy emotion. But what could he do when he and his mother barely spoke at all?

He fell asleep on the portico, listening to Blaise and Mirella talk. His own mother had retired early after dinner, seeming withdrawn. Draco envied the Zabinis' their ease, their closeness. Narcissa was but a lovely stranger to him.

Damned hammock… He nearly tumbled out of it when he woke. It was obviously early in the morning. Still dark. He heard the sounds of the sea and crickets. He yawned heavily, still a little muddy from wine, and thirsty. In the open, airy kitchen, he drank directly from the flowing cistern. Wiped his mouth sloppily on his shirt sleeve.

The stone villa was all open, it seemed. He walked down a wall-less corridor to reach his room, practically its own entity with adjoining lavatory and little viewing deck. There was no escape from the sun here, or the salty sea air. Not that he minded.

Over the distant hiss of waves, he heard a moan. Stopped. Cocked his ear. He was just at the edge of the main villa - home to kitchen, living room, Blaise's room, and a master bedroom. He'd not explored completely, but assumed the opened window nearest him belonged to Mirella Zabini. Another breathy moan, this one longer. Deeper. And murmurings. His cock hardened as if by instinct.

_Keep walking, idiot. Don't look. Don't even turn. Just keep walking. Go to your bed. Have a wank. Back to sleep. Don't. Bloody. Look._

He looked.

Hidden - probably just - behind a smooth column, he looked. Through a sheer, billowing curtain, he did indeed see Mrs. Zabini. She was in her bed, a monstrous four-posted installation center of her room, and quite not alone. From his angle, he saw her from the side.

A long caramel cream leg curled out and over sheet, around another darker caramel body. The faces were obscured by pillows, but the bodies were long, svelte and most definitely conjoined. Flickering candles highlighted their sweaty, shimmering skin.

Draco checked quickly behind him, guilty as a schoolboy and as nervous. _Bloody wrong this. _But he looked back anyway, saw her long graceful arm fold around a sinewy back. She cried out when her lover shifted, sped the snapping of his hips. "Yes! So good, my love!"

His forehead was hot. Draco pressed it to the column, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Wanton witch wailing worked havoc on his groin and he flexed his thighs. When he looked again, Mirella's face was visible. Pillows had been cast aside revealing her perfect visage twisted in ecstasy. Her visitor's face was buried in her neck, contributing to the passion pinkening her complexion. "Harder!" She growled. Gasped. "I'm close!"

Her lover went rampant. His body snapped taut and he pushed up, rose like a god between her thighs to thrust with greater freedom and Draco gasped himself. "Fuck," his lips moved, but fortunately no sound emerged.

It was _Blaise_.

He doubted the lovers were ever aware of his presence, distracted as they'd been, and his fleet feet made no sound as he fled. Safe in his own room, he closed his door quietly and braced against it, breathing. But the damage was done. The image burned on his brain. Awful. Sickening.

_Gorgeous._

He slept in the next morning. Well. Didn't exactly sleep. More hid beneath his duvet and tried to escape his tormenting voyeurism. It was futile.

When he finally arose from some fitful rest, he summoned the elf for light brunch. Kept to himself on his little patio. Under the shade of a clematis, he tried to read. But a passionate encounter between the hero of the tale and its damsel in distress caused him to toss the book to his table. Even literature daunted him.

He wasn't surprised when a knock came, but he was cautious. "Who is it?" He called through the room.

"Draco? It's me."

Not a Zabini, thank the gods. He flicked his wand to unlock his door. "Come in, mother."

There was concern on her lovely face. She looked his opposite: completely fresh and dewy. Today's frock was a long, peach affair that skirted her ankles and showed off her curves. He swallowed. Did _not_ look at her arse.

"You weren't at breakfast. I'm sorry, but I worried." She looked at him in earnest. "Darling! You look pale." Her hand went to his forehead. "Are you alright?"

He tried a smile. "Too much wine last night, I think."

"Oh." She sat, uninvited, but invited. "Well you've no fever, so…"

He pushed her a cuppa. She took it. "Where are our gracious hosts?"

"Out shopping. We were asked to join, but I assumed you were unwell. And I was right, it seems." She fingered his book. "Is this good?"

"Dreadful."

She smiled. "I'll skip it, then." He chewed his lip. Ached. She noticed. "Draco. Are you certain you're alright?"

He shook his head. Rubbed hands over it. "Hell, mum."

"What is it?" He hated how her voice hardened. How her eyes searched. "Tell me what's bothering you. Please." She reached for him, fingers brushing shoulder.

The touch was too electrical. He was over-sensitive. Shrugged her away. "I don't know how to tell you."

So she tried to guess. "Has something happened? Between you and Blaise? Some… argument?"

He scoffed. "No." Took a moment, and a deep breath. "I saw something last night. Late last night." She waited, not pressing, and he decided best to explain. "I fell asleep on the porch. Woke up thirsty. On my way to bed, I passed Mrs. Zabini's room. her window was wide open and...I heard something." He looked away from her. "Mother, I'm no deviant. You know that, right?"

"Ah." Her tone spoke of some understanding. "Of course, Draco." But she hedged a bit, anyway. "Did you see...Mirella?"

He nodded. Swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"I assume she was...not alone?" There was a smile in her voice. When Draco looked at her, it was on her face.

"No, she wasn't."

Narcissa nodded. "I see. And you feel...guilty? Awkward?"

"You could say that."

"Draco." She gathered her thoughts. "Mirella is...different from us. Less inclined to privacy. You can't be blamed for looking."

"I know, but…" He admired her eloquence on the issue. Wished he had it himself.

"Did you...watch?" She asked quietly. "Is that why you feel -"

"No, I didn't watch!" Not a complete truth. "Especially not when I saw…" He sighed. Put his hands on the table. "Mother. It was Blaise."

She blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

"You mean…"

"I mean I saw Blaise fucking his mother." No other way to put it, really.

He'd seen a variety of looks on his mother's face. She had very expressive features and could rarely hide her emotions when they were strong ones. Now, her lips worked possibilities. Her nostrils flared a bit and her wide eyes narrowed. She would no doubt attempt to justify. "Draco. It was dark."

"There were candles."

"You were drunk."

"I wasn't drunk, mum!" He hadn't meant to raise his voice. Sighed again. "Look. I know what I saw. I know how it sounds. But I swear." He looked pleadingly at her.

"Well." She stared out at the ocean. "I believe you." Silence. She was processing.

"How am I to look at them now? When all I can see is them…" He gestured rudely. His fingers hit his wand hilt and it clattered off the table. He let it roll a few feet away.

"How am I?" She asked, her own voice strained. "Now that you've told me?"

"Perhaps we should leave." He said. Felt a little desperation creep into his tone. "We could leave now, even. Before they return. Say I got sick. Really sick. We could floo and be back by -"

"Draco, I can't do that." She leveled a gaze at him. "Mirella is the only friend I have in this world and she invited me here out of a kindness that we shall find nowhere else. If she wants to...fuck her son, that's her business." The expletive was rare from her lips and she blushed hotly. She thought a while. "If you wish to return home, I won't stop you."

"I won't leave you." He wouldn't. "What do we do, then?"

Narcissa sipped her tea. "I am going to attempt to pretend I have not heard a word from your lips. I imagine it will be easier for me as I didn't witness the...event." She stood. Looked down at him. "I'm sorry, dragon. I don't have any advice for you on this matter."

"I suppose I have to try to do the same." He said. "Perhaps it _wasn't_ Blaise."

"Perhaps not." But it _was _Blaise. And they both knew it.

Narcissa bent to retrieve Draco's wand. Her arse curved before him like a peach sunset and his fingers itched. _Gods damn it. _Images of the Zabinis mid-coitus flooded. Draco growled audibly."Here." He looked up. She was standing again, offering his wand. He took it. "If you like, I can make your excuses at dinner tonight. I know they will understand."

"Thank you, mother."

"I think I _will _do some shopping now. Clear my head a bit." She reached for his face again. Perhaps to comfort. But her fingertips barely brushed his cheek before she pulled back awkwardly. "Try not to...dwell too much, darling." She looked so bloody sad. "Good day." And she was gone.

Draco put his own hand to his cheek. It burned where she'd brushed it. There was far too much to dwell upon.

He heard them return later. Much later. It was close to evening when he heard laughter and voices. They were gathering on the portico again. Probably preparing for dinner. His mother had said she would make excuses, but if he didn't face this now, when would he? So he dressed informally and made way to the table.

Narcissa saw him first. Her face lit with a smile. "Darling!"

"Mother."

"Are you feeling better?" She kissed him just to the corner of his lips. He flushed hot and caught a smirk from Blaise.

"I am." He nodded to Blaise and Mirella. "Much better."

"So glad," Mrs. Zabini gestured for him to sit. "Your mother bought you presents today."

"Oh?"

"And four purses." Blaise added.

"Blaise!" Mirella scolded. Narcissa looked scandalised.

"Four!?" Draco was genuinely stymied. "Why would you need four new purses?"

"I couldn't decide." Narcissa unfolded her serviette and took up her water. "Let's eat." Conversation stayed light and genial. There was wine, but noticeably less this evening. It was almost possible to forget he'd witness anything out of the ordinary the night before. Until…

"Draco, did you know you snore?"

He cut a sharp glance at Blaise. "I do not."

Mirella snickered. "Oh, it's not so bad. Probably because you fell asleep in the hammock last night."

"Mum and I tried to wake you before we went to bed, but to no avail." Just Blaise's mentioning their 'going to bed' brought a bright blush to Draco's cheeks.

"Uh," he stuttered.

"Draco only snores when he's very tired. Like me," Narcissa tried to recover the situation, knowing where Draco's mind had veered.

But it was beyond salvation. "I think I'll go read for a bit." Draco rose hastily.

"You alright, mate?" Blaise called after him, but Draco waved off the concern.

In his room, the elf had laid out his presents on his bed. His mother knew his tastes well. Two sleek silk suits and finely tailored shirts. Linen sleep pants. A shimmering black tie. He smiled as he put the things away. Selecting a new book from the sack he'd brought, he made himself comfortable beneath a charmed lantern on his patio.

It was late when the knock came, but he'd expected it. "Come in, mum."

"Not quite."

He looked up and leapt from his seat. "Gods! Mrs. Zabini!"

The witch made a calming gesture with her hands. "I don't bite, Draco." He winced at her word choice. "I saw your lamp burning and... Wanted to talk." She leaned casually against his railing but there was nothing casual in her serious expression.

Draco tensed. His mother had told her. It was the only explanation. "Interesting discussion with my mum?" He asked defensively.

She looked confused. "What do you mean? Your mother retired soon after you. Acting strangely." Her eyes narrowed. "I suspect it is you who had an interesting discussion with your mother. Am I right? Perhaps about something you saw last night?"

_Oh fuck. _But there was no use denying it. And truthfully, a part of him felt relieved. The rest of him coiled in terror, but a part of him felt relieved. "You knew?" That would be just…sick. Or incredibly hot. He vacillated.

"No. I did not." She smiled slowly. "Not that I would have minded. In fact, I would have been happy to invite you in out of the air. But…" She spread her hands. "It was Tiggy who told me today that you were in the courtyard last night. Looking into my room."

Tiggy. The bloody stupid elf. Draco felt inclined to kick it. He couldn't justify himself, but he could defend himself. Somewhat. "I wasn't purposefully spying."

"No, I didn't suspect you were. You're just a normal, healthy young man. I can't blame you for...lingering." She sighed. "I do feel I should apologise. In an odd way. I feel like this incident has affected our friendships. Particularly mine and your mother's." She stepped away from his railing and inspected a clematis bloom.

"Your mother and I are two very different witches. She has always understood discretion. Almost to a fault. Whereas I have never understood it. Apparently, also to a fault." She chuckled. "I don't want to lose her friendship, Draco. Or for Blaise to lose yours."

It was his turn. She gave him the floor. Sat in his empty chair. So he cleared his throat, and tried. "Mrs. Zabini… This is your home. Well, your vacation home. And you and Blaise are free to do here what you will. And who you will. Even if it's each other." He was aware his mouth was moving and partially aware what was coming out of it. "My mother and I decided to stay because she said the same about your friendship. About not wanting to lose it. And… I have no intentions of dissolving any ties with Blaise. We've been through too much together to not be able to surmount…"

"Incest?" She suggested kindly.

"Exactly." Draco snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "It is I who should apologise. I am the one who trespassed outside your room. Who betrayed your privacy. Who judged unfairly."

"Stop, Draco." She said. She rose gracefully and walked toward him. She was easily as tall as he, and they stood eye to eye. She studied him a moment. "Your mother was right. Earlier today I said you reminded me of your father. She corrected me on the matter. And now I see her point." She cupped his cheek. The gesture was comfort. "You are definitely a better man than he ever was." Then she made to leave. Business concluded. "I'm glad you're staying on for the season," she said.

"Thank you." A burden lifted. Evaporated.

In the entrance to his room, she stopped. Seemed to consider something and turned. "Draco. I know I owe no one explanations, but I would like to say that Blaise made his own decisions in this matter. And those decisions were not easy for either of us." Draco nodded, attempting understanding. "I was a very lonely woman. And he understood that. Saw me as more than the sum of my role, his mother. He saw me as a witch, as well. And an equal. We do love each other."

"Of course you do." He believed that. "I know you're...close."

She looked at him. Her beautiful eyes were sharp. "I say your mother and I are two very different witches. But truly...we're not. Once the two of you understand each other…" She shrugged. "Well. Perhaps you'll be close, too."

Mrs. Zabini's wisdom rang in his ears. He needed to talk to his mother. Mirella said she'd retired early, so Draco headed for her room. It was similar to his own, but up a slight incline a few metres away. He climbed the little stone path hurriedly, seeing her lights still burning through the curtains.

"Mum!" He momentarily forgot himself. Didn't knock. Should have. "Oh!"

She gasped, whipped away from the full length mirror and scrambled for the slip hanging there. "Draco!"

"I'm so - so sorry!" He made to spin directly out the door, but it had closed behind him. Foiling him. "Damn." He fumbled with the knob. It was stuck. Behind him, his mother was naked. And surprised.

"Draco."

"I'll come back in a minute, mum." He needed a minute. Or a few minutes. The door gave and he opened it.

But her hand pushed it closed again. "Draco. It's alright." He looked at her. Slip was in place. It clung to her and he knew everything was _not_ alright.

"I'm sorry, mum." He repeated.

She shook her head. "I said it's alright! What has you so flustered? Please tell me you weren't spying again."

"I wasn't spying!" He insisted. She waved him off. "Mrs. Zabini came to talk to me."

"Oh?" Her interest was piqued. "What did she say?"

"She knew I saw. The bloody elf told her."

"Tiggy?" Narcissa's eyes widened.

"Yes. Soon-to-be-kicked-Tiggy."

"Well. The elf is supposedly very faithful to her."

"And a pain in my arse."

She slapped at his arm. "What did she say, dragon?"

Draco sat on the end of her bed and reiterated the conversation. "So she wasn't angry at all." He finished. "It was weird."

Narcissa had propped herself against her vanity to hear him out. Hanging on every word. "I can't believe she told you that," she whispered. "Poor Mirella."

"Poor Mirella?" Draco asked. "She seemed happy enough to me. Buggering her son."

"Draco!" She admonished. She bent to retrieve a cast off stocking. Her arse was a dream in black satin. Again his hands itched to touch. To squeeze. He looked at the ceiling. "What are you staring at?" She'd stood, and was following his gaze.

"Nothing."

She tisked. "Well. Do you feel...better about the situation. I mean, I know it's still strange, but…"

"It's their business, isn't it?" He picked at a string on her grey duvet. "Their lives. And like she said, different from us."

"Of course." Narcissa nodded, arms crossed. The position pushed her breasts up prettily. He didn't look at those, either. She chewed at her lip. He rubbed at a scratch on back of his hand. "What do you suppose she meant? When she said she and I were not so different from each other?"

Draco shrugged. "Perhaps the bit about being lonely?"

She looked slightly stricken. "I never said -"

"I overheard you tell her." He interrupted softly.

"Oh." She looked down.

He couldn't bear it. Her frown. The slope of her delicate shoulders. "I could be there more for you, mum. I should be."

She smiled a rueful smile. "Oh? Like Blaise is for his mother?" Draco didn't answer. He felt a lump of something in his throat. "I feel for her - for them - because I know the dreadful isolation."

"Perhaps they were desperate." Draco said, unconvinced of his own theory.

"Perhaps." She stepped closer to him. Gently fingered his hair. He cocked his head into the caress. "If we were ever that desperate…" His eyes widened. He saw only her belly. It rose and fell with her steady breaths, slowed now. Her fingers stilled in his hair. The moment froze.

He licked his lips. "Do you think we would ever be that desperate?" When she still didn't answer, Draco closed his eyes and plunged. He put his hand on her hips, pulled her closer. Pressed his face to her stomach. He heard her sharp breath.

"Draco," she whispered. The hand in his hair rubbed down his neck and back up, nails gently scraping. Her other hand slid up his arm until she wrapped him in a loose embrace.

She smelled of salt sea and . The satin was cool, but warmed quickly when he rubbed his face across it. His nose dipped into her navel and he felt her trembling. "Draco." She repeated his name but he didn't look up. Instead, he kissed her through slip. Let his lips moisten the fabric over her hipbone.

"Draco." Her voice firmed. This time, she tugged his head backward, looked down at him. He met her eyes. They were dark with widened pupils. Lusty eyes.

"What, mother?" His hands were on her arse. Handfuls of perfect. He squeezed gently and she sighed. Her head fell back.

"You're squeezing my arse."

"I know."

"This makes us no better than them," she murmured.

"I think we're already no better than them." His head moved so he could kiss the side of her hip. "Or they're just better than us now." His hands shifted down so he could get a different hold. It was still a soft and pliable yield. "Do you want this?"

She moaned a very small moan. "Yes."

"Gods, me too, mum. Turn around for me, please." She did, unquestioning. He needed it like water, her rear; kneaded it like dough. His hands inched fabric upward with every sloppy, harsh grope and soon it was bared to his lips. He kissed it, worshiped it, nuzzled the crack of it and even bit - wanting mouthfuls of the flesh.

Narcissa had gone mindless from the attention, unaware just how long her body had yearned for this appreciation. Her nerve endings were on fire, signals crossing at every intersection until 'incest' was just one more amorphous word lighting the sky like so many aurora borealis - mysterious and mysteriously pretty to look at. "Oh, darling," she fell forward, supported herself with hands on her vanity. Let him have this part of her, reveled in how he pressed the cheeks together, laved them with his tongue as though they were two firm figgy puddings.

"My precious," he murmured in the cleft. "I want you so much, mother. I don't care how wrong."

She turned her head, tried to see him. "Me either, Draco. Goddess please, touch me!"

He stood quickly and she heard him fumbling with his trousers, felt his fingers dip, ride the curve of her arse into the more secret and far wetter curves below. She hissed and gripped the edge of the vanity.

Draco recognised abandonment, felt desperation in every quake of her body, in the sticky gush that soaked his fingers and the insides of her thighs. She was boiling hot and swollen. He understood the witch who was about to let him fuck her like a whore, bent over the furniture. His cock fought to breach the taboo, to plant itself in that too tempting heat and heave.

It wasn't quite right.

His trousers dropped and he wrapped an arm around her waist, shifted her smallness as one would a misplaced pillow. "On the bed," he gasped.

"Oh!" She oophed against the mattress and crawled awkwardly up. He held her steady on her knees, knowing exactly how he wanted her.

Half-dressed and half-sensed, he tugged her vanity bench up behind him with his foot and sat heavily. The view before him was spectacular. An expanse of soft, pale witch bum and there - quivering like a foal - delicate, pink, dripping folds. Reverently, he touched, as she'd asked. The tip of one finger slipped between petals and she groaned, bucked. Pressed her face into mattress.

"Just fuck me, Draco."

"Just a minute," he insisted. Why he insisted, he wasn't sure. Every part of him screamed 'take.' but there was a small part of him that knew this indelible moment would come only once. And so few moments in life came wherein one was presented exactly what one wanted with such eager selflessness. He wanted to experience it fully.

She pressed back against his finger. "Please, Draco." Her voice was heavy. There may have been tears in it. he wasn't certain as her face was hidden by duvet.

He rubbed his hands once more over the smooth round orbs. Squeezed again until her cunt opened like a morning glory. Using his thumbs, he parted those precious folds further and leaned in for his first taste.

She practically shattered. His tongue dipped as low as it could, skated through her slit and encountered hard swell of her clit. He could barely flick at it. She gasped death breaths and suddenly her own fingers were there, teasing the shadowed bud. "Fuck, Cissa," he growled.

Roughly, he tugged her backward. A guiding hand at the small of her back bent her further until all of her moist secrets were revealed. "Dracodracodraco," she moaned a litany of want and fucked his face backwards.

Shame was forgotten. The sea must have swallowed it up. He sucked that elusive swollen nub, nipped at her fingers when they intruded on his mouth's turf. He claimed her. Set her groaning into the bedding when he introduced one, two, three fingers into that swollen, tight crevasse. He slid them in and out while she sang a thready, pleading aria.

To his profound wonderment, her body answered to him more cohesively than her mouth did. He felt a tightening on his fingers, first. Her thighs followed, in sync with the hitching in her throat. He concentrated his tongue's efforts against the now revealed clitoris and witnessed the awesome power of her orgasm.

It was quiet, almost torturous. She snuffled in the bedding like a beast and whimpered through the final spasms that rippled round his fingers. Her own fingers found his face again, pushing him away from sensation gone too sensational. "Oh, Draco…"

He smiled. Could possibly never tire of those words in that tone. "Beautiful, mum." He kissed the abused folds sweetly. His hand was soaked with her juices. Left a distinct print on her bum as he licked his way up, up.

She made no protest to further explorations. Was too lax with pleasure, or enjoying the explorations herself. He pulled her arse cheeks apart almost clinically to examine the tight pucker housed within. It seemed not so tight now, its lightest pink revealed by the eased musculature. He licked it and she gasped. "Draco!"

That had her attention, it seemed. She pushed up on wobbly elbows. "Don't, darling."

"Shhhh." He massaged the fatty flesh.

"But -"

"Shhhhhhh." He kissed it this time. The star shaped orifice shivered what seemed an invitation, so he plunged his tongue in as far as it would go.

"Ahh!" She cried out her loudest. Reached back for him. He swatted the hand away and continued pushing her boundaries. "Please, Draco. Later. Gods, I want you inside me now!"

Later. He could deal with later. In fact, his own tumescence cried out for later and now at once. He scrambled to his knees behind her, aligned himself smoothly, and pressed inside her cunt. "Oooohhhhhh." His throat betrayed his dignity. He fell over her back. "That's the fucking best," he groaned. Sounded like some demon even to himself.

Narcissa agreed. Breathing fast and hot into her pillow. "Yes, it's good. Faster, baby."

He complied, surprised that the sensation could _indeed_ get even better. "Oh, yeah." He pushed up again, needed to watch the slide of his flesh in and out of hers. It was glistening purple disappearing within glistening red. "Fucking beautiful."

His hands worked her arse again. Lifting the flesh, dropping it to watch it shake. He discovered a sharp slap brought not only a rewarding jiggle, but a full fledged squeal from his lover. But his end was near. Too near. He supposed it was to be expected given the circumstances, but still. "Can you come for me again?"

"I - I - I…" She clutched at the duvet, thrust her arse a little higher against him. "Yes!"

"Good." He grunted. He fucked her faster, harder. Slicked some now excessive shared wetness up into her crack. His thumb pressed against her arsehole and he felt her tense when it slid fully inside.

"Oh, Draco!That's -" But whatever it was she didn't finish. Her mouth opened on a silent, strained cry as one final pleasure tore through her.

It gripped Draco's cock mercilessly, pulling him along. He came helpless to stop it. Heaved them both forward into pillows. Her arms - taxed for too long - gave out and they collapsed in a heap of sweaty flesh.

"Mmph." She grunted when he removed his thumb. He kissed her shoulders. Soothed with a gentle massage of the flesh he'd ravished.

"Mother." He whispered against her ear.

In answer, she turned in his arms. Wrapped him in embrace forgiving and loving. "Draco. Darling." Kisses on his face, his lips. "What have we done?"

He held her face in his hands, studied her expression. "Don't hate me," he said. "Or this." His throat closed. "I can't take your regret. I love you so, mum."

"Draco." She tumbled him. Stroked his sweaty temples. "I could never hate you. Oh, my love. You are all I have in this life!" Her wet eyes bled truth. He kissed the tears from her face. "I love you inexplicably. I just never imagined expressing it this way," she murmured.

He held her close. Heard the sea crashing below them. Her slip rucked between them and he helped her pull it over her head. They assured each other with soft caresses and sighs before biology drove them to the loo and the bath. Even there they washed each other tenderly.

Draco was squeezing water from a flannel over his mother's breasts when she asked him the question. "Do you suppose this would have happened had you never seen the Zabinis together?"

Draco grinned. Sex had loosened his tongue and inclined him toward honesty. "I don't think seeing the Zabinis together is what really brought any of this about, mum."

"Oh?" She looked backward at him. "Then what?"

He shook his head dismissively. "Something Blaise said. About being attracted to our mothers. Which now makes absolute perfect bloody sense in his case."

"So you've been attracted to me this way for a while?"

"I believe so," he answered. "Especially certain parts of you. I suppose I just didn't realise it. Though in hindsight…" He chuckled at his own unintentional pun.

"What parts of me?" She looked at him again and he knew he would have no peace until she knew all the details.

The water shifted when his hands slid underneath it, underneath her. He kissed her neck, hands gripping her slippery rear. "This part," he murmured in her ear.

"Oh…" She turned to kiss his lips. "Well, I suppose _that_ makes sense now." She was obviously thinking of their earlier escapade. She straddled his lap, cupped his face as he cupped her arse. "They say hindsight is 20/20, after all."

**AN: **This piece was originally titled _Baby Got Back_, just so you know. And do forgive my shameless LOTR references. I couldn't resist. A little piece just for me. Thanks for humouring.


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